Week 22 - Delight to Despair

It was great to see Heather again and I felt slightly guilty that I hadn’t given her more thought during the last week. She looked so sweet and innocent as she stood there in her pink hoodie. She greeted me with a very passionate kiss and even though I told her it would probably end up on tomorrow morning’s newspaper she indicated clearly that she didn’t care. For the first time that week I could actually feel myself smiling.
Heather had this habit of travelling light but this time she had a rather large lime green rucksack. Part of me hoped this meant she would be staying sometime although I hadn’t changed the bed sheets for over a month. From inside the rucksack Heather took out a neatly wrapped box and gave it to me. The label read “To make my Jon smile xxx”. I tried desperately to unwrap the present without destroying the pretty slightly girly paper or the pink bow. Finally I opened the box and found inside a whole range of goodies. There was a pack of seven of my favourite chocolate bars (twix), a framed newspaper cutting of me kissing Heather at the station, a beef and tomato Pot Noodle, a bottle of orange flavoured Hooch, a Villa Season Review 1995/96 video, a pair of Bart Simpson socks, a packet of butterscotch flavour Angel Delight and perhaps most significant of all a single chocolate rolo. Was I reading too much into the idea this was Heather’s last rolo? Maybe she had just had a whole packet but been peckish on the way here.
I cooked tea for Heather; we shared the beef and tomato Pot Noodle. Heather complimented me on how well I had boiled the water. We sat on the bed taking it in turns to feed each other a forkful of pot noodle. Heather obviously has quite a small mouth because the tomato sauce seemed to end up covering her very kissable lips. Things were just so easy between the two of us and I started to forget all my troubles. Heather managed to drop several noodles down her pink hoodie and went to wash this in the bathroom while I prepared desert. Sniffing the bottle of milk I decided it was probably ok despite the sell-by date. So I found one of Becky’s old hand-whisks and prepared two special butterscotch angel delights. As all the dishes were dirty I poured the whisked mixture into two large wine glasses. I made them special by adding a twix finger to each one. I then decided to return the romantic gesture and put the last rolo into Heather’s glass.
Carrying the two glasses of desert I return to the bedroom. To my surprise and delight Heather is now seated on the bed dressed just in her pale pink underwear. The mesh style underwear made me want this girl so much. I was slightly distracted by her lack of clothes and could not remember which of the deserts contained the rolo. As I dithered Heather took a glass from me. She suggestively pulled out the twix from her angel delight and slid it into her mouth whole whilst staring straight in my eyes . As I looked down at my desert I could see just below the surface was the last rolo. Oh well, I tried. Just then Heather pulled me towards her. We kissed passionately with the taste of butterscotch on our lips. The moment though was suddenly broken by a very loud knock on the door. We decided to leave it but the caller just wouldn’t go away. I then heard the familiar voice of my dad calling me. He seemed very anxious so I decided I needed to see him. Heather offered to stay hidden in the bedroom, but I asked her to put her clothes back on just in case as my parents can be nosey.
Both my parents had come because they were worried about me as I had not been answering the phone. Mum was wearing a very strange blue knitted top. She had knitted it herself but unfortunately knitting was not one of her strong points. Within seconds mum was yet again in tears. Dad was trying to calm her down but totally failing. The two seemed to be aware of my lack of food and had bought a flask of warm tea and a batch of corned beef sandwiches. It was quite comforting to see my old Rupert Bear flask again but I couldn’t help recalling how I had used that flask nearly twenty years ago as part of an experiment with my junior chemistry set. Also I regretted once telling my mum I liked corned beef sandwiches when really I detested them. I had only said it because I was sick of having fish paste every day at school. At least they didn’t go in the bedroom and find Heather. I didn’t really want to explain why there was a half dressed lady in my bedroom during this time of mourning.
For some reason there was no mention of missing Becky from my parents instead all the talk was of Nan. The funeral was to be at St. Chad’s on Thursday at 2pm and then back to my parent’s for a buffet. Mum said she would do some corned beef sandwiches just for me. Apparently Uncle Henry was going to read a poem about how we take after our mothers. Dad looked older than he had before. Maybe I was just looking closer at him than I had recently. I was very aware that he had moved up a generation. Until now in my life there have been grandparents and then my parents. Now there were no grandparents left so the oldest generation was my parents. My dad was now an orphan. As I was thinking about all this and not really listening to my mum I was suddenly startled when she asked a question I had not expected.

“Do you want Pete to come in the car with us? Your Nan did think the world of him”, mum just came out with.
Suddenly I had to think again about what Pete and Becky had done. I had put it to the back of my mind. In fact I had totally wiped Pete out of my mind. How could I so easily have forgotten about Pete and all the things we had shared together? I hadn’t seen him since he left me in the pub. I told my parents that we had had minor fallout, but didn’t want to go into any details. Saying that to my mum was like giving a dog a bone and telling them they couldn’t lick it. She wanted to know exactly why and was not going to give up. At that point Heather, fully clothed, walked in.
“Hello Mrs Stadler, how are you? I’ve just come back from France and Jon kindly let me grab some sleep”, Heather said to my parents with a hint of her sexy French accent.
“Oh sorry Heather we didn’t know Jonathan had company. If we had I would have bought more sandwiches and not just corned beef. I can’t stand them but they are Jonathan’s favourite”, mum was quite surprised to see I had company.
Dad quickly decided it was time to leave and started packing away the flask and Tupperware. Heather continued to try to score brownie points by complimenting mum on her imaginatively knitted blue top. Mum seemed quite pleased about this an offered to knit Heather one for Christmas.
As my parents left they asked if they could give Heather a lift anywhere. I could tell they suspected that we had been misbehaving. Unfortunately we hadn’t because of their unexpected arrival. As I waved my mum goodbye I could again hear the click of a camera. That was it my dad was off in pursuit of the photographer ready to grab his camera. I tried to call him back but he had gone. It seemed all his built up emotions from the last week were coming out in a rage that I had never seen before. My dad reached the rather surprised newspaper photographer and made a grab for his camera. My mum screamed in a horror film sort of way and Heather just grabbed hold of my arm. The photographer reacted angrily and pushed my dad away. But dad is now focused purely on getting the camera and to my total surprise kicks the photographer in the shin. Several neighbours in the courtyard are now at their doors and my dad really has lost it. Tears started to flow from his eyes and he just dropped down on his knees on the tarmac.

“I will see you in court”, the photographer shouts at my dad before limping away to his car still with camera in his hand.
Mum goes over to dad and holds him so tight. I have never seen my dad so out of control. He was hurting so much. Tears running all down his red face. I don’t know if I felt pity or pride for my dad at that point, but it made me start to cry as well. Then Heather started crying and I am sure even some of the neighbours joined in. If we were so emotional now how were we going to cope with the funeral on Thursday at the church where I was jilted?

Week 21 - Sad Times

It had now been three days since we heard about the death of Elsie Gloria Stadler and it really had hit us all hard. Nan had just always been there for both me and Karen especially at times when our parents had found it easier to bury their heads in the sand. Yes, in the end Nan was barking mad. Which probably explains why she was trying to climb down the drain pipe from her bedroom window in her slippers when she fell? It was easy to blame the Home for not having better locks on the windows but it was never possible to stop Nan doing anything she put her mind to. At least now she would be on her way to be reunited with my Granddad unless of course Jessie got to her first. No, she would be in Heaven with Granddad because I am sure that Saint Peter would never let Jessie in even if she did flash her petticoat at him.

The four of us Stadler family members sat with the vicar discussing the funeral arrangements. It all seemed far too serious and every time I gazed past the vicar I could just see Nan pointing and laughing at his hairstyle. This was the same vicar who Nan took quite a fancy to at my nearly wedding. The vicar that Becky and I sat down with to plan our wedding service. The vicar who had enjoyed a ride in my Best Man’s sports car. It is amazing what can happen in three months. My whole life has changed. Probably the three most important people in my life have now all left me for various reasons. If there is a God he has obviously got it in for Jon Sadler.

On the fireplace was a photograph that I hadn’t seen before of Nan and my Granddad eating ice creams at the seaside. My Granddad with trousers rolled up and knotted hanky on his head. My Nan with her long dress tucked into some rather big pants. She was wearing a sunhat that I am guessing was blue as it was a black and white picture. The two seemed so happy and content. It was only now that I realised how much the two just belonged together. I had somehow in seven years started to think as Nan as separate to ‘Nan and Granddad’, but now I could see how wrong this was. So much of my Granddad’s spirit had made my Nan who she was. For the first time since Dad had told us the news I started to cry. Uncontrollable tears ran down my face and everyone in the room could see my distress but decided to leave me to it. I felt completely alone even the image I had before of my Nan joking behind the vicar had gone. It really was just me now and my world felt so empty. I wanted to turn back the clock. I wanted to be a small boy sitting in my grandparent’s front parlour eating scotch pancakes with the smell of Camp coffee and watching the ‘Goldenshot’. I didn’t want to be planning my Nan’s funeral. I am just not grown up enough for this. As the vicar tried to explain to my mum that it was not traditional to have the coffin leave the Church to the ‘Birdie Song’ even if it was Nan’s favourite I quietly slipped out the house.


Waiting back at my flat parked outside was a police car. I really didn’t need this now so I tried to creep in without them noticing. It didn’t work and within seconds the two policemen were getting out of their panda and running towards my door. Surely the Starsky style leap over the bonnet by the younger one was a little over the top. I invited them in because I just wanted to sit down.

The two policemen were by now quite familiar to me, but still seemed to believe that I knew a lot more about Becky’s disappearance than I was letting on. Every time they came they asked the same questions. It always started with them asking if I had seen Becky before asking if I knew if anybody else had seen her. I decided, perhaps wrongly, to mention that Nan had claimed to see her. They looked puzzled but then the older one with surprisingly pointed ears nodded and said his old Nan was totally mad as well. They didn’t seem to believe me but finally agreed that they would go and ask Nan for a statement. For just a few moments I had forgotten that I no longer had a Nan. I was just giving the officers the address of the home when I started to cry again. The Mr. Spock lookalike actually was sympathetic and put his arm around me when I mumbled that my Nan had died. The other policeman just looked up from his notepad and said, “Convenient”.


For the next two days I just stayed in my flat and didn’t answer the phone or door to anybody. I just wanted the world to leave me alone. Occasionally I would see cameramen outside trying to take snaps of me. I didn’t shave, ate only a packet of plain biscuits and just felt more alone than I ever had before. Just as I was trying to decide whether I should ring my Dad to see if they had fixed a date for Nan’s funeral I heard a crash from just outside my door. I looked through the kitchen window to see a hooded youth taking something out of my dustbin. Without thinking I ran out to confront the young bloke. He was taking an empty plastic bottle of woodpecker cider from my bin. He was very surprised to see me!


“Sorry mister just wanted a souvenir. I mean you are quite a celebrity. You don’t get many murderers in Lichfield”, the youth offered me his hand to shake. I felt like thumping him but that is more Pete’s department so I just shook his hand. Then I heard the now familiar sound of clicking lenses. Yes, I can just see the photograph in the paper tomorrow of suspected bride killer shaking hand of a mysterious shaded hooded character on his doorstep.

Back inside I then decided it was time to open the last packet of slightly soft biscuits. Soon there was a knock at the door. So deciding that I couldn’t hide forever I opened the front door.

“Sorry mate. Have you got a pen? Thought you could sign this bottle”, the hooded chap had returned and I came so close to punching him. Quickly I slammed the door shut and just dropped down on the floor.

Again my quiet moment was broken by a knocking on the door. This time I had had enough and opened it to the hooded character. I was about to strike him when I realised he had shrunk and his hoodie top had changed from blue to pink.

“Well, aren’t you going to let your favourite girl in?” whispered a familiar sweet voice.

Next week : Who is this mystery girl?

Week 20 - Who's Uncle Henry

Nan was sitting almost on top of the communal telly drooling over Compo in ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ when I got there. Saying what she would do to the scruffy chap if she was Nora Batty. It had been nearly three hours since our telephone conversation, but I quickly realised that it could have been three decades ago. Nan was in the kind of mood when she couldn’t remember anything of the last few years. I asked a lot of questions, but she started to get frustrated and couldn’t even recall that I had been jilted let alone who Becky was. I think she thought I was my dad. Then when I tried to tell her that I was Jon not my dad, she then assumed I was her son! One of the Care Assistants then came over and told me that they were very sorry and they didn’t usually let their residents drink a whole bottle of brandy. As I turned back to face nan she was throwing her walking stick like a javelin at a rather fraille old lady with a blue rinse. With the help of the Care Assistant I managed to sit nan back down.


“He’s not your dad you know”, nan suddenly informed me.

Now I was confused. I mean, first of all, who did nan actually believe I was and secondly did she even know what she was saying? I don’t think I wanted to hear this. It was bad enough being suspected of doing in my missing bride without my parentage being questioned.

“You are my son Henry. Aren’t you?” Nan was certainly confused. She thought I was my Uncle Henry, dad’s younger brother. He was nearly thirty years older than me! Maybe the traumas of the last few months were catching up with me and making me look a lot older. I decided that I would play along with this and asked why granddad was not my father?

“Now, it was during the second world war when your dad was with the Home Guard protecting the Town Hall”, Nan was ready to reveal all. At least as it was about Uncle Henry, who I had never really liked, it could be quite juicy gossip. “Your Uncle Clive came round. He was quite a looker in those days. Not like he is now”, I decided not to mention the fact that he died twelve years ago. So my Great Uncle Clive was really my dad’s brother’s father? That would explain why my granddad and Uncle Clive never seemed to get on. Oh, but hold on, a dreadful thought then hit me. I wasn’t totally up to date on the Family Tree but was pretty sure that Uncle Clive was actually my nan’s brother not my granddad’s. Oh no, this was something I didn’t want to hear. It was getting quite like a ‘Brookside’ plot.
“Yes, I can still remember what happened as if it was yesterday”, nan prepared to tell me all the details of this incestuous relationship. It might explain Uncle Henry’s very strange nose. “Your Uncle Clive showed me something truly amazing when he opened up his trench coat”, nan was beaming as she told the story. “There it was; a tiny pink thing, A beautiful baby boy”, tears started to roll down nan’s cheeks. I was just so relieved that I wasn’t descended from a family who interbred. “That poor baby was left with no parents or family thanks to a jerry bomb, but your uncle Clive knew that me and your dad would give that baby a special home and treat it like one of our own”. I was quite touched and if it was possible it made me love my nan even more. “So Henry you are a very special boy and you have two parents that love you lots. Although not the original ones who were blown to pieces”. Nan held my hand as she told me this before suddenly slapping me across the face. “Jon! Why are you pretending to be your Uncle Henry? That’s a horrible trick to play on an old lady!”
Several times in the next hour I really thought nan’s memory was coming back but still she couldn’t recall my wedding and certainly had no knowledge of the headlines in the Sunday papers. When she dosed off for the fourth time I decided it was time to leave. I thought it was best if I kept the information about my Uncle Henry to myself partly because my nan always did have quite a good imagination. I was just creeping out when nan opened her left eye; “Next time we must talk about what you are going to do about Becky bonking hunky Pete”, nan said before her head dropped and she started snoring.

Back at home I was desperately trying to take in the events of the last day. I had half expected to return to the flat to find the word ‘murderer’ painted in red paint across my front door, but instead all was quiet. So did Nan really know about Becky and at what point would she have found her marbles enough to talk about it? My head was so full of everything and I was starting to dread going to work tomorrow at Walsall Council. Surely wheelchair Dave and lovely legs Hasmitta would have seen some of the newspaper articles. Hopefully they will be on my side.


I decided to try and be the first to arrive at the Council Leisure office on the Monday, but I was met by Tracey from Human Resources who was wearing tweed. “Sorry Jon, but I think it is best if you go on leave until this is sorted out. Of course, if they find the body we will support you through the trial, although, we would obviously suspend you and fire you when you are found guilty. Sorry if you are found guilty”, Tracey blurted out without looking me in the eye. She handed me a brown envelope before very quickly disappearing.


Just as I was leaving the building ready for my unexpected holiday I was greeted by a familiar face.

“You don’t hang around do you Stadler?”, it was ‘Bluenose’ Dave in his state-of-the-art wheelchair. “I mean they haven’t even found your missing bride and you are caught snogging the lips off another beauty.” Dave handed me today’s copy of ‘The Sun’ and on the front page was me kissing Heather at the station. The headline read ‘JILTED JON’S NEXT VICTIM?’ This was turning into a really bad year!

Dave was finding this all quite funny but you could tell he knew that I was not capable of murder. He suggested we pop into the Council Canteen for a coffee and a chat before I headed home. To my surprise Doreen behind the till refused to serve me and snarled as Dave paid for the drinks instead. The atmosphere was not good with several people who I usually exchanged pleasantries with now sitting as far away as possible.

“You’ve got to find her”, Dave said whilst spilling coffee down my trousers. I told Dave about nan and he said that I had to go back and try and find out more. I decided not to tell Dave about Pete as I didn’t really trust him that much. Dave always looked after number one and I suspected that it wouldn’t take too much money for him to tell the gutter press all he knew. “She is a cracking bird though”, Dave commented on the picture of Heather.

I decided on my way home that I should really pop around and see my parents as all this must be very difficult for them. When I got there I noticed that there was a red Skoda parked outside but decided to go in anyway. Despite having a key it didn’t seem right this time to use it so I decided to ring the bell. My mum answered dressed in a very long flowing hippie-style purple and gold thing and she just burst into tears and hugged me so tight that breathing would have to be delayed until later.

“Oh Jon how are you? I have been so worried about you. Come in, come in. Oh, your Uncle Henry is here”, my mum said through the many tears.

Inside my dad was looking at some photographs of Uncle Henry’s son Michael at his graduation.

“Look Jon, doesn’t Michael resemble your Granddad?”, my dad asked while pushing a photograph in my hand. There was, of course, no resemblance, but then I suddenly realised how totally different the two brothers standing in front of me looked from each other. “Your Uncle’s on his way to see your Nan and just wanted to ask us what he should say about your little trouble”, Dad had a habit for understating things. Here was I on the front of every newspaper with suggestions I had murdered my bride and he called it my ‘little trouble’. Should I stop Henry going to see nan because she might tell him what she told me. But then does he have a right to know?
Just then the phone rang and my dad disappeared into the hall to answer it. My parents still had a telephone on a small table in the hall and even though the call was nearly always for my mum it was my dad’s duty to answer it.


“So what did happen to Becky then?” Uncle Henry enquired. “I don’t think I ever got to meet her. Pity she wasn’t at the wedding. Oh, that reminds me, can you send the silver cutlery set back quite soon that was our wedding gift to you. We have got another wedding to go to next month and it would save us buying another present”. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell him his parents were blown up!


My dad walked back into the room looking totally stunned. Something was wrong I have never seen him look so pale.

“What is it love?” Asked my mum.

“I can’t believe it, she’s dead” replied dad.